Different
by thechroniclerofthehouse
Summary: behind the door at barts, john watson found a girl named shirley holmes, in her third trimester with twins after a one night stand. here's how the textual narrative would have wound up. from john's perspective.


John Watson limped into the laboratory and saw a girl sitting at a microscope. His future roommate? What was his friend thinking?

She was tall; taller than him, which intimidated John considerably. Flowing black hair tied in a ponytail, quick eyes, sharp cheekbones, shark elbows, sharp _everything_. Apart from that, she seemed your regular twenty-something London girl, in a long black coat, a loose grey dress top and long black pants. His first impression was that she was a scientist of some sort- a know-it-all.

When she said, "_Afghanistan or Iraq?_" his first impression grew deeper. Deduction? Someone must've told her. Damn his lying friend- though he wouldn't say it to his face. And an attention seeker, too- she was toying with that doctor, Mortimer or something.

She was also pregnant. With one, probably, in her second trimester. John reckoned she looked the sort to wear a shirt and not a dress top- an inconvenience caused by her condition.

She winked at him before departing, one head in the door, ponytail drooping down. "The name is Shirley Holmes, Dr. Watson, and the address is 221B Baker Street."

He turned to look at his friend slowly. "Bloody hell."

"Yeah, she's always like that. Good luck, John."

"Shirley Holmes. Yes. I read your blog. _The_ _Science_ _of_ _Deduction_."

"Well, how was it?"

"Informative."

Mrs. Hudson rounded the corner and took one look at the kitchen. "Oh, Shirley! You've made a mess again! Now, remember; I'm not your maid, but I _have_ to make you a cup of tea. Not good for the babies, not good in your condition, if you go so long without food."

John looked at Shirley. "Babies?"

She shifted her feet and looked slightly uncomfortable from where she was sitting on the loveseat, which John had refused to sit on. "Twins. Yeah. It was a one-night-stand. Don't ask."

It was the only time he'd seen the great Shirley Holmes seem remotely unsure. It unsettled him somewhat, and so John was quite glad when Mrs. Hudson brought out the newspapers and Shirley went to the window and said, "Four. There's been a fourth."

It was a very fast conversation. John took the time to look through the newspapers. DI Inspector Lestrade. And Shirley was working for him. _Bloody hell_.

While Mrs. Hudson was bustling around in the kitchen, brewing Shirley's tea, her overcoat was already on and she was wrapping a scarf around her neck. "John?"

"...hm?"

"Are you a medical doctor? Any good?"

"I'm good. Very good."

"Excellent. Do you have any grounding in gynaecology- to be specific, birth?"

"What?"

"Birth. I won't ask again."

"Uh, yes, I suppose."

"Then you can come. Mrs Hudson, I won't be having the tea!"

They ran down the stairs and Shirley hailed a taxi.

"Harry is short for Harriet."

Shirley slowed down for a bit. John rushed to her side. "What is it? Your water broke?"

"Harriet! A girl! Yes! Damn it, I should've known," and Shirley continued striding forward.

"And I do worry about Shirley, especially in her _condition_." The man leaned in close.

"Yes, I'd bet you do."

"Oh, I do."

"So who are you?"

"An interested party. A friend. Though to Shirley, in her mind, I'm probably an enemy. Her _archenemy_, like as not."

"Her baby daddy, then."

The man's face darkened. "Of course not, _Doctor_ Watson."

John stumbled up the stairs, red-faced. Shirley was lying on one of the couches, black hair spilt all about its arm. With _three_ nicotine patches on her arm.

"_What_ are you doing, Shirley? You're in no condition to-"

"John, I need to borrow your phone. Also, get me the ice cream in the fridge."

He went to the fridge and extracted a tub of- _what_- that new Ben & Jerry's potato chip ice cream. With his phone in the other, he returned to Shirley's spot.

"Here. Cravings, I understand."

"What? _No_." Shirley's face scrunched up. "I detest the thing. It just stimulates my mind. Forces me to think so I can solve crimes." She took his phone and returned it nearly immediately.

"You went out in the dead of night to get a pink suitcase when you're wearing _black_?"

"Come on, John, I'm more athletic than you think."

"The problem is whether or not the babies like it."

"Babies, babies, babies. Pah."

"I like company when I go out."

"Do you think you're that good-looking?"

"I was good-looking enough to get a one-night-stand."

"He could've been very, very drunk."

"Hello, Shirley. Anything you want, free, for you and your date."

"Excuse me- I'm not her date. If anything, she's probably mine."

"Gender equality, damn it, John."

The bearded man came back with a plate of steak. Shirley dug in with great fervour, never taking her eyes off the street. Occasionally, she offered a piece to John, who accepted.

"Not my type."

"Girlfriend? Come on, boyfriend makes sense. You let a boy stick his-"

"Shut up or I'll get hormonal, you understand?"

"Crystal clear. Damn it, you're infuriating-"

"Look across the street." Shirley wasn't eating anymore. She wiped her mouth. John looked.

"Taxi. Is he getting off? _Why_ a taxi? Oh, it's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever? Don't stare."

"What? You're staring."

"We can't both stare."

"A pregnant woman is more conspicuous than a normal man."

"Goddammit, John-"

For all the extra weight she was carrying, Shirley ran extremely quickly. John was left dithering, apologizing to whoever Shirley nearly ran over with her large belly. Up the stairs and back down, despite her obviously swollen ankles.

"Come on, John! We're losing him!"

"My ankle is in less danger than yours," John muttered, but jumped anyway.

"This way! No, _this_ way!"

"Sorry, she's pregnant, gets hormonal and chases things- like that dairy truck over there-" John was enjoying coming up with excuses for Shirley far too much.

"Police!"

"Since when do plainclothes policewomen run around pregnant," John muttered, and chuckled at his own alliteration despite the seriousness of the moment.

"Welcome to London."

"Any, uh, problems, just let us know."

"She your wife?"

"Uh, no. My, ah, boss. Likes to chase after things."

"Can't be good for the baby."

"Babies. It's babies."

John closed the door and went to stand with Shirley.

"Where- where do you get this? Hey, it's from Inspector Lestrade."

"Yeah," Shirley panted, "I pickpocket him when he gets annoying. You can keep that, Scotland Yard keeps printing them."

John laughed. "What?"

"Nothing. Just- 'Welcome to London', and, bloody hell, you're the most active and interesting pregnant woman I've ever met since my mother."

Shirley sniggered and turned to look. "Got your breath back?"

"Should be asking _you_, actually."

"John-" and John paid attention, "stop."

"_No_."

"Calm down, all right? Just don't say anything. Don't piss Lestrade off." Then, to Lestrade, "Just nicotine patches. Do you think I'd be dirty if I also had _this_?" She patted her belly.

"Anderson, turn around. You make my kids squirm."

"What- I _do not_-"

"_Anderson, turn around!_"

"Oh, all right."

"The thing is, I'm _pregnant_ and _hormonal_ and _in shock_ and I just called you a murderer, essentially."

Lestrade paused for a while. His eyes went small, then big. "_Ah._ Okay, all right, uh, you just go and do your, ah, stuff."

"_Thank you_."

When she reached John, both of them burst into helpless laughter.

"You _did_ it, didn't you? I could _feel _it, the two of them were kicking hard as hell as they've been when I'm near to you- _oh_ bugger I really am hormonal, isn't it-"

John squinted, decided not to go down that route, and continued walking on with her. The car pulled up.

He sputtered. "I- I _thought-_"

Mycroft smiled thinly. "He thought I was your baby daddy."

Shirley smiled back, a sharper smile, with teeth. "No, John. That'd be incest, and anyway, I'm not even sure if he's capable."

"Oh- _oh_. Oh."

Mycroft smiled at him politely, and turned back to Shirley. "What you did, Shirley, was needlessly risky. You know Mummy wants her darling grandchildren to be born without any birth defects to speak of."

Shirley folded her arms. "Send me a list. Or men from your government, then."

"Better. I know very well what sort of common sense you possess. Blackmail, then- if you don't take proper care of your health, actually _use_ the hundreds of dollars of supplements I send to your door every month, I _will_ give Mummy good Doctor Watson's contact and have him accompany you to dinner."

Shirley's face grew drawn. "You _wouldn't_. Let's go, John."

She grabbed his arm and they both strode away. He had no time to talk to Mycroft Holmes' rather good-looking secretary.


End file.
